


Relax, General.  Just Think Of It As Being Exceptionally Well Endowed!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Garrison and Actor are gone, victims of betrayal on a mission gone very wrong.  Can the rest of the team pull them out of a German holding cell before General Stanfeldt, the master interrogator being sent from Berlin can arrive?  And that's not the only urgency.  HQ has issued orders for another team to eliminate Garrison, who holds too much information in his head.  This will take a con to end all cons, including Meghada taking on a role she's always avoided before, but they're going to bring their missing friends, their family, back or die trying.





	Relax, General.  Just Think Of It As Being Exceptionally Well Endowed!

It was supposedly a simple in-and-out pickup of information, except that the agent in place would only deliver to someone he knew, and then, only someone he knew from West Point. He had been adamant about that. Since research discovered Fredericks and Lieutenant Craig Garrison had attended the Point together, at least knew each other by sight, and Garrison had experience with this sort of thing, he was the logical choice. And, they even given in to the demand by the team, not Garrison himself, mind you! but his gang of gorillas! that at least one of the team accompany him. The tall Italian was the logical choice there as well, speaking the language, having the demeanor to carry off such an impersonation. So they went in; went in, but did not come back out.

"I'm sorry I got you into this," Garrison said in a low voice.

Actor snorted, "yes, I remember you begging and pleading with me to come along, to hold your hand," remembering how the young officer had fought that tooth and nail, only giving in when time was running out and he had to give in, move or abandon the effort.

That statement got him a slight, though grim smile. They both leaned their heads back against the wall of the small cell, sitting side by side on the bare wooden bench. Each thought of those left behind, those who would mourn. Not many, perhaps, but those few were worth any number of others, at least in the eyes of the two men. They thought of what was to come, what they'd been told about the General coming to interrogate them, wondering if they could hold out, keep from giving away information that would threaten the cause they fought for.

And, together, they put together a plan. No, not a plan for escape, since they had worked together long enough to make such a plan on the fly, should the opportunity present itself. No, this was a plan to keep themselves from betraying their comrades - suicide by General, if possible; otherwise, there was little available to them. Their belts, shoelaces, indeed all their clothing except their shorts had been taken from them.

Still, there was SOMETHING, something unthinkable except under conditions just like these. Actor knew the information Craig held in his head, and had taken it upon himself to promise the General would not get a chance at it; after all, he'd been taught several methods of killing with his bare hands, and they had not been bound or shackled. Craig could only accept that offer, though with great bitterness, knowing this would leave Actor to bear the full rage of the interrogator.

Still, they vowed they'd hold out, as long as they could, as long as there was ANY chance of escape. So, they waited, cold and with only each other and their thoughts of those left behind to keep them company. They thought of the good times, the warmth, the love, and if they regretted that coming to an end so soon, well, that was only natural. And there was no shame in that, they each thought, as they saw the faint smiles on the other's face at the remembering.

They waited. They waited, hearing the voices outside, men coming and going in their usual routines. Hearing the trap in the door open and the soup and bread and water being slid through, pushed at the end of a stick so there was no opportunity for contact. Hearing, finally, the voice of the man they were expecting, the General, and other voices, the Major in charge of this facility, and another, the companion of that man controlling their destiny. And they exchanged a long look, a look of acknowledging the waiting was at an end. Now, their fate was at hand.

 

*

The scene was beyond tense. The women, well, it was hard to read them, their expressions, beyond the shock and dismay. He didn't have to see it to know what was there, however; he remembered they were better than the men at hiding their anger. The men radiated their fury, Chief the only one seemingly detached from the emotion; of course, that was only if you didn't know him, couldn't read that stretched tendon in his neck, the death hovering in those dark eyes. Even the more casual observer might have picked up on his constant stroking of his right forearm, if they were aware of the switchblade he wore strapped there. Right now their fury was focused on Kevin Richards, the British Major who had come to give them the news.

"You lost them! Just 'ow the ruddy 'ell did you lose them?" came as a low and wicked snarl from the small pickpocket. "Just a little information exchange, wasn't that it, MAJOR??! No worries, in and out, but 'ad to be someone the contact knew. Well, looks like someone ruddy well DID know them, now don't it??!"

Somehow in the midst of all of this, Garrison's pickpocket had misplaced that cheery, mischievious, harmless demeanor, and the vision was almost enough to distract the others from what they had just been told. This man, well, despite his size, this man wasn't one any of them would have liked to meet in a dark alley, not unless he was on their side.

The others had seen him like this before, on occasion; the Major had not, and now couldn't quite grasp what he was seeing. Richards dragged his hand through his dark hair, now starting to show premature streaks of silver. He would have spoken up, told them he was just as upset at all this as they were, but somehow that seemed more than a little presumptuous. Yes, he now viewed Craig Garrison as a friend, someone he had a great deal of respect for, a man he owed a few favors to. Yes, he respected the rest of the team as well, including Actor, the other member of the team not present in this room. But these men, they were Garrison's team, his men. Not to mention . . .

He looked briefly at the two women in the room; Lynn Garrison he had brought down from London with him, Meghada O'Donnell he had phoned and arranged to have meet them here at the Mansion.

{"Looking Lynn in the eye and telling her I've lost her brother, well, that was one of the hardest things I've had to do, and she seemed almost as upset about Actor; I've wondered sometimes, the way she teases him. And the Dragon? She's in full form; she's adopted the whole team, seemingly, even Garrison, no matter how she and her family usually view Yank officers."}.

He took another look at the redhead, her eyes now taking on an almost oriental slant, hair drawn back tight, not in the coronet or loose braid she wore when not headed out to battle, but in the tight braid and wrap that would let her engage in combat, use a wig or cap to equal advantage. {"Yes, she's battle ready, that's obvious."}.

He heaved a deep sigh, "where is Casino? I'd as soon not tell this twice," he said.

"You'll tell it as many times as need be, Kevin, till we get every scrap we can use," came in a cold, flat voice from Lynn, and the looks on the other faces confirmed that resolution.

Gil Rawlins came through the door, Casino right behind him, "got 'im, sir."

"Very well, Sergeant Major, you may go," he started, to hear a snarl from Meghada.

"No, we may need him; Gil, will you stay, we have a situation," and the non-com nodded, though casting a wary glance at the British officer in front of him.

Richards sighed again, nodding back in agreement, {"might as well; it can't be any secret I've totally lost control of the situation; all it would take is a good look around the room to know that!"}.

So they all sat while he poured out the whole miserable story, country, city, general information, who was supposedly holding the men.

Information on the new front Hitler is trying to set up, vital of course, with hints this is something the Allies would never suspect, totally unforeseen. But the information was coming from someone who'd been behind the lines for so long, he didn't trust anyone, wouldn't accept a meeting with someone didn't know, had suggested they check the rolls for his 'school days'. The contact was a graduate of West Point, so, when it turns out Garrison and this fellow had known each other years ago, not friends so much as classmates, well, that seemed a reasonable choice. HQ wasn't even too happy about sending Actor along, except he, well, all of them, kicked up such a fuss about Garrison headed out alone . . .

"And don't think HQ was all too happy about THAT either, all kinds of fuss over who was running the team, HQ, Garrison, or the rest of you."

Richards chose to ignore the muttered comments that showed just how much they cared about the overall happiness of HQ.

"Still, Actor had the skill to pose as his colleague, with Garrison's cover as a visiting businessman, so they went in. Seemed all was going well; they had the meet, but a message from the Underground - one of their people had been keeping an eye on the meeting place; no particular reason, just the leader is the uneasy type, likes to know every little thing going on in his territory, and we can be thankful for that! He got word out to us; the two were taken into custody as they came out, and the contact? He came out smiling, and shaking hands with the leader of the men who took them, received an envelope in return. 'Rascal', that's what the Underground leader calls himself, had them trailed, standard procedure, and watched; we know approximately where they're being held, and where the contact is staying, but it's just as likely a trap as anything else. Either way, HQ says Garrison knows too much, we either get him out or" and he swallowed and took another healthy swig of the drink in his hand.

"Or take him out, is that correct, Kevin?" came in an icy voice from Garrison's sister.

"Yes, that's correct."

"So Actor is just what? Collateral damage?"

"Yes, he hasn't the information Garrison has in his head, so HQ says to focus on Garrison." Richards could have now closed his eyes and imagined himself in a den of wild animals for all the various snarls and one or two hiss's that permeated the room.

"We're going in, so give us everything you've got," came as an harsh order from the one Richards would have thought the least likely to be giving orders.

"They're sending Henderson and his team, not you; you know they wouldn't . . ."

"We don't give a bloody shite what they would or wouldn't, Major. Understand us. WE'RE going in, so you need to ruddy well get off the stick and give us every bit you 'ave! Meghada, can you arrange transport, money, whatever else we need? And find out anything about these blokes the 'igh and might HQ wouldn't know, something we can use," came from the slender Englishman, who, somehow, had just taken control of the situation.

While there might have been an odd look shared between Casino and Chief, a look Richards would have sworn was grim amusement, though that made no sense whatsoever, not in this situation, no one questioned the pickpocket giving orders, his right to do so.

"Of course. Do we have a phone here that HASN'T been tapped by HQ? Or anyone else for that matter?" and Richards' jaw dropped. He hadn't known about any phone taps; surely wasn't aware that THEY had known of any, or of anyone other than HQ who would even have an interest in doing so.

"Course, babe. Always keep some clear way out now. Come on," and Casino led her out quickly.

{"Yes, this situation is now totally out of my control."} And he had to wonder if that was such a bad thing after all, since he didn't have a clue of what to do next.

 

*

"General Stanfeldt. He's coming in from Berlin just to interrogate them; we can only hope they're waiting for him to start the process in earnest. He doesn't allow anyone else in the room when he does his interrogations; sometimes travels with a small staff, a couple of men, but often the only staff is his driver; man's been with him for ages. He's been delayed due to a meeting with the General Staff, but will be headed out on Wednesday, getting there early that evening. That's two days from now."

"We'll have the team ready and waiting, but we need to have someone on the inside if at all possible, and for that, we have an edge. He always has to have a woman at hand; there in Berlin he has quite a retinue, quite a variety, all types, and there is a large turnover. New ones arrive, older ones just disappear, not to be seen again, at least in Berlin. There is speculation about that, but no one has the nerve to investigate."

"He also travels with a woman, always; rarely the same woman, NEVER one of his stable, but always the same type for the traveling - actress, singer, someone from the stage anyway. They usually reappear, though sometimes in somewhat dubious condition, and it is usually a considerable amount of time before they reappear in public, though he is usually thoughtful enough not to mark them in a way that will affect their returning to the stage, eventually. AND, we lucked out. He frequents certain of the more high class nightclubs in Berlin, including The Tripoli. I met him when I sang there, and one of my cousins has sung there periodically, in fact is appearing there now. He likes singers, likes redheads, likes the image we project on stage."

The team remembered, quite well, the first time they'd seen her on that stage, a redhaired sultry temptress in a tight green dress; Goniff flashed just a glimpse of a wry acknowledging smile. {"Still like 'er better the way she usually is. That's when she's MINE. That's not 'er, not my 'Gaida, up there on that stage; that's just another mask she's wearing."}

"He's asked my cousin on a couple of his trips, but she has declined, based on 'prior engagements'. This time, 'she', that is, ME," and she pointed to herself, "will NOT decline, will make it clear she is available for the 'little excursion'. He is most generous, after all, and she will be putting it in the right ears that she is a little eager for funds right now. He'll get the word within a couple of hours. He's waited a long time for that opportunity; I don't think he'll pass it up."

"Honey trap? You don't do that kind of work; you've made that clear on more than one occasion," Richards said with a frown. It pretty well matched the frown on the others' faces.

She gave him an impatient look. "This is different, Kevin. These are our own! I'd go in as Lady Godiva or Madame Pampadour or the bloody Whore of Babylon if that's what it took," with a brief reassuring touch to the shoulder of the pickpocket who bit off what looked like a determined objection.

Richards turned to the man, furious when the objection failed to materialize, "and you'll let her do this??!" to be silenced by the haggard, bleak look he received in return.

A hoarse voice rasped out, "if the bloke swung in the other direction, Major, I'd go in myself if that's what it took to get them back," and that cold statement fell into the room with a silent crash. Richards looked into those pale blue eyes, saw the resolution showing there, and knew he'd never look at the slight man the same way again, never underestimate him again.

He headed back to London within the hour, to arrange a 'technical snafu' that would delay Henderson's team being sent out; Private Ames could handle that, that and the reassignment of the mission to Garrison's crew; the young man was surprisingly talented in the more esoteric demands the Major was starting to make on him, sometimes needing nothing but a word or two, sometimes just a look, a file edged to the center of his desk.

Sometimes it seemed that since the young man had become close friends with Meghada and even more so with her brother Ian, he was handling 'demands' before they were even made, but then, he supposed that was what a really good military Aide DID. He decided not to think on that any more; he had quite enough on his mind right now. Though, far back in that logically organized mind of his, tucked back in a small room containing 'things to consider when I have the time', was the thought, occasioned by that pickpocket of Garrison's and his surprising behavior that night, {"I wonder just how many other people I am underestimating?"} And Private Jeffrey Ames was represented there with a small question mark.

 

*

The team split, Meghada headed to Berlin to meet with her cousin, to take her place, to set up the con. The others, they headed to Stralsung, a gothic city well suited to the activities now taking place there. The Underground leader met them, gave them what little additional information he had.

"They have been questioned, there is no doubt, though the Major in charge here is not known for being exceptionally harsh. I think he might be one of those who has no great belief in the Fuhrer, but simply wants to survive this war as best he can, making as few enemies and doing as little damage along the way as he can. Also, the General seems to have been quite specific in that no lasting damage, no, let me rephrase that, no 'immediately fatal' damage be done, not til he has the opportunity to question them. He has his own methods, which are said to be highly successful. We do not know what they are; none have survived to tell of them, and he does not allow any others to be present. We know only the rumors, that the remains were not pleasant to look upon, not by any means."

He looked at these people who had come to retrieve the two now locked inside that stark grey stone building. One woman, four men - all with cold, unswerving determination written on their faces.

"This is personal for you, yes?"

A snort from one of the dark haired men. "Yeah, kinda. They're family."

And that got a raise of the brows from Rascal. "They do not look alike, nor much like any of you."

The young woman gave him a grim smile, "families are formed in many ways, Rascal, and perhaps even more in wartime, yes?" And he nodded in acknowledgement of that fact.

"What will you do when the General arrives? He is known for allowing none to accompany him inside the building, much less for the interrogations."

A very cold smile came from the small blond man, "by the time the General arrives, mate, if this goes right, 'e ain't gonna 'ave much of a choice. You got the uniforms and such?"

They waited; no, they didn't like waiting, knowing what was probably happening inside, knowing though that there was no choice, knowing that the General and his 'lady' would be arriving within a short time, and then the waiting would be over. For good or ill, the waiting would be over.

The young woman turned to Rascal, "you have the transport in place?" and at the solemn nod, she and the taller of the dark haired men went to their places, there to await the others, {"when, if . . . NO, DAMN IT! WHEN they bring them to us!"}

It was less than two hours later when the General pulled up, his staff car dusty from the trip. The driver hurried to get out, opened the door for the dignified officer, and watched as the General exited, rather stiffly, as if his back was hurting perhaps from the long drive, holding tightly to the waist of the elegantly dressed woman who had accompanied him from Berlin.

The driver thought the General was truly taken with this one; there had not been even an inch between the two the entire trip. She was huddled against his side now, sheltering from the cold, her not being dressed at all suitably for the chill night, though the long fur cape perhaps warmed her.

{"He does not usually take his ladies in with him. Perhaps he thinks it is too cold in the car, or,"} taking another look at the lush figure and pouting lips of the redhead, {"perhaps he does not trust me with such a one. Not that I would think to sample his goods, no matter how tempting,"} shuddering to think of what would befall any man who tried such a thing. After the General tired of them, perhaps; that had happened before, especially if the woman had displeased him in some regard; but never while he was still having his fill.

At a word from the General, the driver got back in the staff car and pulled it to the alley beside the building, to wait. He got out to have a cigarette and stretch his legs. He never saw the dark figure approach from the rear; he never got to enjoy that cigarette, either, before he was bundled, lifeless, into the trunk, and the dark figure, in the appropriate uniform, now with the appropriate papers in his pocket, took his place behind the wheel, taking over the watching brief. The sound of another staff car pulling up behind him caused him to look in the mirror, and then, as two of the occupants got out and walked past him, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, perhaps a nod of 'good luck'. He waited, as the two in the car behind him also waited. He was getting damned tired of waiting.

The General and the lady paused before the doors to the stone building, and as if by magic, two others appeared behind them, uniforms showing them to be members of the General's personal staff. The General did not seem to take heed; perhaps he was used to his staff appearing out of nowhere, ready to obey his orders; perhaps there was another reason, who knows. The doors swung open, they entered and the doors closed behind them. Each of the four were very aware of that fact, very aware. The General was announced, the officer in charge summoned, the two aides left behind in the hallway. The woman complained in a piercing voice about the stark coldness of the building, though what she expected from a military outpost, no one really knew.

*

The Major in charge of the station was not happy. He was not happy for a variety of reasons.

First, he didn't like having prisoners here; this was just a small communications outpost and didn't have much in the way of facilities for dealing with prisoners, just the one small cell and that more likely to contain whichever of his men who'd most annoyed him recently.

He didn't have much in the way of competent staff, either; he'd send the entire bumbling contingent to the Russian Front if he had his way; maybe they'd learn some discipline there, in the brief time they'd have before they met their end; they would certainly not have enough time to learn competency! He rather thought that would be beyond them no matter HOW long they had.

To have General Stanfeldt make a visit, well, that rarely went well if the rumor mill was correct. People died when he visited; always those he interrogated, frequently those who annoyed him, or just crossed his path at the wrong moment; it was rumored that his temper was uncertain, to say the least.

Then, that phone call from the General's Aide, that no further questioning of the two men was to be undertaken until he arrived to take over; that if the men needed medical attention they were to receive it so as to be in the best possible condition for said questioning, for it had been determined that they both held vital information; that he wanted the fewest possible witnesses to his arrival, to his departure; therefore, only a skeleton staff was to remain - it was strongly suggested that that be the Major and no more than two or three others.

Even for a small outpost, that was a serious understaffing, but one thing the Major had no inclination to do was to argue with the very cold voice on the other end of the phone. So, the Major and three of his least incompetent men were alone in that cold stone building, waiting for the man who just might hold the power of life and death over them, as he assuredly did over those two prisoners. He spared a thought that it was good that he himself wasn't much inclined toward questioning prisoners, though he'd never confess his weakness to anyone else. Other than a few bruises and minor cuts they'd experienced in the initial scuffle, they were in quite good condition, so the General should be pleased with that. He desperately wanted the General to be pleased about something.

Within an hour it was over, and the Major heaved a deep sigh of relief. No bloodshed, at least not within the staff here. The prisoners, on the other hand, well . . . He and his men had assisted in carrying those two bodies, wrapped in stained blankets, out to the two staff cars, loading the bodies into the trunk of the second one.

The General and his entourage waited, watching, the General with a satisfied cold smile on his face, the other two men totally blankfaced, the woman just starting to pout a bit again. The Major was surprised she was still standing; she must have nerves of steel, not to mention the fortitude of her stomach! The General had even taken her into the interrogation room with him! The thought occurred to the Major, {"maybe she is one who enjoys such, as he is known to,"} and shuddered at the thought of a woman like that, at what may have transpired in that cold cell. That there had been few sounds coming from that cell, well, he swallowed heavily and attributed that to the ball gags the woman was swinging from her hand, rather as if they were a fancy handbag. The woman now shivered in the night air, and in a husky whine said, "Shstanny, it's cold out here. It will be much . . . " and gave a sultry low laugh, rich with promise, "warmer in the car!"

The General swallowed heavily, and a wave of the hand sent the two staff members scurrying to the car that held the bodies. The Major, his staff stood stiffly at attention, saluted the General and received a languid salute in return, watched in silence as the General and his people drove off into the dark. The sigh of relief this time was even greater, and was done in unison, the Major and his men.

"Go get the room cleaned. No, better still, leave it. We'll let the next watch take care of it. They got off easy tonight; time they made up for it," and received wholehearted smiles in return. None were too interested in seeing what the General had left in that room; they'd not seen the bodies, but they had all heard the gossip.

It was with great trepidation that the Major received the puzzled question by the Sergeant heading the next watch, "clean WHAT up, sir??" And when he went to the cell, to see it no different than when he'd seen it previously, certainly not very clean and with some old bloodstains, along with equally old stains he'd prefer to not consider the origins of, still, no different than usual.

And when he heard the news, that General Stanfeldt was missing, had disappeared while conducting an interrogation in Stralsung, had been declared a defector and a traitor, he grew lightheaded with the shock and the fear that grew and grew, up to the time the Gestapo showed up on his doorstep, and then he knew what fear REALLY was.

And when they determined the General had left here, with the bodies of the prisoners; had been in the company of his staff at that time, they departed, leaving the small communication center intact. And in a total breach of discipline, once the black uniforms were gone, the Major pulled out a bottle of schnapps and poured a stiff drink for himself and each member of his staff. They held their glasses in a toast, though no words were spoken. They each knew what the toast was, 'to survival, for one more day!' He no longer thought of sending them to the Russian Front; they were now comrade in arms; they had faced the craken together, and they had survived. They may be bumbling incompetents, but they were HIS bumbling incompetents!

As soon as the cars made the outskirts of town, they pulled off under the trees. The 'bodies' were gently retrieved from the trunk, and bundled into the backseat of the second staff car. There, Michael and Lynn went about assessing damages, giving what first aid they could, luckily the need not being so very great; Casino took over driving that car, leaving Chief to drive the other, with Goniff and Meghada, along with the General, of course, as his sole passengers for the time being.

The first car made a slight detour, for a small errand, but only trailed the other by maybe twenty minutes or so. A small plane waited in a pasture not too many miles away, and it was with a hugh sigh of relief that the cars were abandoned in a nearby quarry, and the plane took off. The General was, of course, none too happy about any of this, but the small gun that had stayed plastered to his kidney during the entire escapade, not to mention the small explosive device nestled in his most private areas, ("Relax, General. Just think of it as being exceptionally well endowed - a third 'jewel', if you will, Herr General," the infuriating young woman had told him with a wicked smile) had guaranteed his cooperation. When it was retrieved, with the absence of any of the ribald remarks you might expect, at least til the thing was disarmed and discarded, everyone heaved a sigh of relief, not just the General.

At this stage, he had rapidly decided that his best chances were with the Allies, as he knew personally that the General Staff, his brothers in arms, had a serious deficiency in the area of empathy, and there was little in this entire episode that showed to his favor. There were two or three who had been angling for his position already, and would surely make use of this humiliating experience to finish him off. So, yes, he'd cooperate.

And if he had his way, he'd never see another redheaded singer in his life; he'd be more than content with that, he thought, sparing an evil look at the one sitting across the aisle. He dropped his eyes and shuddered, however, when the slight blond man seated beside her intercepted that look, leaned back in his seat looking at the General appraisingly, arched one eyebrow and asked in a dangerously casual voice, "do I need to kill 'im, luv? Just say the word; won't be any problem, nary a bit. No one 'ere will kick up a fuss, you know."

There was something in those pale blue eyes that sent a shudder through Stanfeldt; he had a pretty good idea of what had transpired when they'd made that unexplained stop and the two men had disappeared for those few minutes. If he remembered correctly, that address was that of the man who had given them those two agents in the first place.

Suddenly the General was just a little bit grateful when the young woman looked over at him with an amused look, "no, love, it's not necessary."

And the Englishman looked at her closely, "you're sure?" and she smiled back, serenely.

"Absolutely, I promise," now turning that amused look over to the General. "Not even a flash in the pan; in fact, neither a flash NOR a pan even in the making," and the warm laugh that ensued, the General never DID understand.

He DID know that, while part of him had once regretted not being able to sample what had appeared in that tight green dress in that small apartment where he had gone to pick her up, the tables having been turned so quickly he'd not had the opportunity for even a brief kiss, now, he thought that might have been the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him.

***

Needless to say, the Brass was confused, gratified, outraged, bewildered - pretty much the usual for HQ, in Kevin Richards' opinion, and wasn't THAT a discouraging thought! How the delay happened that kept Henderson's team from leaving on the mission; how the folder with the assignment ended up on the right desk to make it Garrison's team's mission - no one knew. The military Aide who processed the folder argued his innocence and he had a point; it only made sense to send the team that had the most to gain by it being successful; he'd have no reason to doubt it when the file appeared in his ToDo Tray, why would he? And, truthfully, the boy probably hadn't understood that cryptic little bit that would have led to the two men's deaths; he was far too innocent to even think in those terms. The officer investigating had no doubts about that, {"Private Jeffrey Ames might be many things, naive, innocent, very young, though quite capable in a clerical role, of course - but sly, devious, manipulating? No. Capable of purposefully defying or even suborning direct orders? Not in this lifetime!"} laughing to himself at the very thought.

{"HQ must be losing it, big time, to even consider it. Just a mixup, that's all. And I don't know what their problem is, anyway. They got their Lieutenant back, along with his man. They got a German general in their hands. Rank confusion in the German High Command over just what the hell happened. Traitor turns up dead. That new front just a bit of misdirection by Jerry. Seems they should just thank their lucky stars and give it a rest!"} And that was pretty much his heartfelt recommendation. Oh, of course, it was couched in perfectly dictated military language, but it got the message across. So the Brass shrugged their collective shoulders, and did just that.

No, the ones to kick up a fuss were the two who had been pulled out of there by the skin of their teeth.

"You want to tell me just what in the HELL you were thinking??!" seemed to be the gist of it, although there were many more words, loud ones, accompanied by some actual shouting. It included a few references to 'putting the entire team at risk', 'pulling off a stunt like that with not one of you men speaking German! Or even understanding it, for that matter!', included a choice comment or two about taking Lynn and Michael along, not to mention letting Meghada run a honey trap with a sadistic SOB like Stanfeldt. The comments about the rational, much less the rationality of controlling a German General with a bomb strapped to his balls were quite vivid. The little sidetrip SOMEONE had made, which had resulted in the traitorous contact's unfortunate early demise, instead of him being brought back for military review, was touched upon at some length. Somehow the issue of suborning and interferring with orders from HQ didn't make the list. Finally the two had yelled themselves out, and were now both pink in the face from exertion.

"Ya finished, Warden?" came the calm question from Chief, perched in his windowsill.

"Yeah, for now, I'm finished," came from between tight lips.

"Ya finished, Beautiful?" Casino asked, leaning back against the mantel of the fireplace.

"Yes, I am finished," came the crisp answer from the tall Italian.

"Good! Took you both ruddy long enough to get that outta your system!" Goniff pulled out a really excellent bottle of whisky, grinning at Lynn and Meghada who had, like the others, sat quietly through all the noise, but who were now setting out the mismatched glasses that lived in the Common Room. He sloshed out a generous measure into each, and handed them around. He raised his glass to the two slightly battered men in the center of the group, "welcome home, mates, welcome home!" And with a snort, and a shared laugh, the team celebrated just that, being together, being home, making it through one more mission.

And later, when he and Kevin Richards spoke of that mission, which they did only when they were well out of earshot of either the team or anyone else for that matter, Garrison heard about that meeting in the Common Room, about the plan, and eventually, about the words from the slender Englishman.

"I think he meant it, Craig; no, I KNOW he meant it. I saw it in his eyes; he would have done that, and anything else it took. Not that the other two men weren't determined to get you both back, that's not what I mean. But that, I think it shocked even them, more than Meghada volunteering to take on that part of the plan. And, yes, I realize that's wrong, thinking it would be easier for her than for him, but it's the way things are looked at, you know. And he was the one who took charge, no hesitation, just slid into the role like it was the natural thing to happen. One does tend to underestimate him, doesn't one?" Richards mused, sipping from the glass in his hand.

Craig Garrison shook his head, ruefully. "Yes, and I did so for too long. But in my defense, he DOES hide it well, you know. And he avoids it, being in charge I mean, totally, as long as there is someone around who'd be more capable of handling things."

"By the way, any idea what happened with Fredericks, why he turned you over like that? We got word he was taken out, but no details."

And he listened as Garrison told of an agent in the field perhaps too long, perhaps tired of seeing other men get rich off the war and him getting more and more bitter at not even getting the supplies he requested, or relief when he begged for it, thinking his years at the Point should have counted for more, and becoming resentful of those with the same background but NOT stuck in some dumpy town pretending to be someone he wasn't, and seeing a way to finally get what he thought was his due - money, certainly, but a bit of pay-back as well. Garrison was just the lucky one chosen by HQ for that last role, unknowingly.

"Well, seems someone decided to see to it, that he got his due, that is. Word is, someone put a knife into his heart, nice and slick."

Garrison just grunted, and took another sip from his drink. "War's a risky business, you know, especially when you can't figure out which side you're on. Of course, it might not have happened if the Brass would try to see its people as just THAT; people, not machines, each with their own weaknesses, their own limitations." And Richards could only nod in reluctant agreement.

Richards did ask Goniff, quietly, off in a quiet corner when it was just the team in the room, not Garrison or the women.

"How was this different than with Charlie? (Episode 'Now I Lay Me Down To Die') The Brass, they left them both out there, too long, no support. We know how that is. You could have been shot, because of Charlie. Why did Charlie survive and this one didn't? You even defended Charlie, if I remember correctly."

And the even look, no longer cold or hard, just matter of fact. "I didn't end up on the wrong end of that ruddy firing squad because of Charlie; I ended up there because of the mission to get Charlie out. Charlie might 'ave been on the edge, couldn't 'andle it anymore; that's right enough. Don't know what would 'ave 'appened, what 'e would 'ave done, if we 'adn't gotten 'im outta there. But Fredericks? We know ruddy well what 'e did. Sold them, the Warden and Actor, to the krauts, for money, to make someone, anyone pay. Made the decision, 'e did, to turn and make a profit. That's different, Major, and if you can't see that, then I'm ruddy well sorry for you." And Richards could only nod, feeling somehow humbled.

Later, at the Cottage, Craig thought briefly about chiding them once again for being so reckless with their lives, their safety, theirs and that of the team and the others involved; he thought about it, as he lay there between the two of them, til he looked inside and was totally honest with himself. Yes, he'd have done the same for them, without hesitation, without counting the cost to himself. So instead of scolding them any further, instead of eliciting promises 'never to do anything like that again!', he simply held them close, feeling their warmth and their love, letting them hold him just as tightly, and knowing himself to be extraordinarily blessed, with his pickpocket and their Dragon.


End file.
